A Disjointed Daydream
by Rayvah
Summary: One girl in town just wants to get to know Mr. Gold. Slight Lemon. One-Shot. Mr.Gold/OC


**I don't own any of the Once Upon A Time characters. **

I live in Storybrooke. I don't quite remember for how long and the details of how I came to be here are fuzzy. Suffice to say it's been my home for long enough that people know me, and I know them. I also know Mr. Gold. This story doesn't start out with anything more interesting than that I want to know him. I go to his shop. I seek him out and make effort to converse, which he does willingly enough. He doesn't make any overtures towards me, and I feel comfortable around him. I know that nobody likes him in Storybrooke. As I get to know him I find his tricky words and half truths invigorating. I've always looked at things somewhat literally myself, and figuring out what he means is like a game. Also, I find him a challenge. I don't know exactly what his dealings are with the town that makes them resent him so, but still - it isn't right to treat someone that way. If you do everything in your power to maintain your inner integrity, no matter the cost, I find you don't have to take frustration out on others, even if they are the cause. I think dealing with Mr. Gold can make me into a better person.

The more time I spend with Mr. Gold, the more the townspeople's feelings towards him spill over onto me. Perhaps they think I'm his spy. They've known me for years, though, and deep down they can't possibly think I would do them harm. No, they are letting their resentment get in the way. And they act on their feelings towards me in a way they would never dare with Mr. Gold. When I go to Granny's, they claim to be out of half the things I order. Suddenly, when my car breaks down on the road, it's not something that can be fixed in a short period of time. Small things, but vengeful. I feel righteous indignation. What terrible, judgmental people. Though, after dealing with this for awhile, I start to grow depressed. I don't mention any of this to Gold. It's my problem, not his.

The only thing that gets me out of this rut is the realization that hiding from this won't grant me any sort of peace. Some things are just like that, and this is one of them. But I'm not a confrontational person. Not like our Mayor. So I think about what I can do, that isn't running away, and is still me. I have an idea.

I go to the shop and ask Mr. Gold if he'd like to have dinner that night. It's the first time I've ever made any efforts to have us seen together in public for any length of time. People know I spend time at the shop: but this is different. If Mr. Gold is surprised, he doesn't show it. He agrees to meet me later that night at Granny's.

We have a nice dinner. I enjoy our conversation. I enjoy more how uncomfortable this situation is making the staff. I'm overly polite, and use my most dazzling smile. I make sure to ask her specifically for every item that was denied me in the past. Unsurprisingly, they all seem to be available.

I thought, perhaps, that anything amiss might go unnoticed by Gold. But I should have known better. He is a master of observation. He asks me the real reason why I asked him to come out tonight, in this most conspicuous of places. Mr. Gold is very adept when it concerns subtlety and deception. I find the only way to remain on equal ground with him is to use the opposite strategy of straightforwardness and honesty. So I decide not to lie. First, however, I tell him that I'll only answer him if he promises not to do anything about what I say. He raises his eyebrow slightly, and promises. I know I can trust his word, when he gives it. So I tell him about the trouble with townsfolk I've been having due to our relationship. I simply wanted to rub it in their faces that even though he is the one they really fear, they are too cowardly to do anything directly to him. I'm hoping it will make them step back and take a long look at their actions. If it doesn't, at least I've had the satisfaction.

Mr. Gold considers this. He asks why I made him promise not to do anything. I tell him retribution is not the answer. I tell him things like that should be left in God's hands. He seems to find that amusing, or endearing. He smiles. We finish our dinner and part ways.

The next few days are uneventful. Granny at least seems to be grudgingly nicer to me as do some of the other people who were there that night. Maybe they are afraid I'll tell Mr. Gold to do something to them. Maybe they thought my being there with a threat. That was not my intention. Gold seems to be keeping his promise, in any case.

I go by Gold's shop. He's there. We talk. I mention his kept promise, and thank him for it. He shakes his head, mentioning my comment about how it should be left in God's hands. I grin widely, and teasingly reply that I was surprised he didn't consider that an invitation.

He looks at me intently for a moment, then drops his cane, shoving me back against the desk and kissing me desperately. I respond immediately. Something must have been so pent up, for so long, that I'm filled with yearning, and fire, and a wanting so intense. He pulls me closer, and I do likewise, clawing with ferocity my usual demeanor would never betray. After a few minutes of building lust, I stop him, for just a moment. Our clothes are partway off. I know where this is going. I have to tell him that I haven't done this before. So I do. He pauses, breathing heavily and looking into my eyes. He promises to be gentle. I don't ask him to stop, and he doesn't offer.

A few moments later, he is trailing kisses down towards the space between my legs. I know his intention. I know people do this, but I've heard men don't enjoy it on a large scale, so I tell him he doesn't have to do that if he doesn't want to. His only response is a half grunt, half laugh as his tongue enters me. As he works, the pressure builds. His hands are trailing up and down my sides, and warmth pools in me. He obviously knows what he's doing, but given his maturity in years, it isn't a surprise. I'm the exception, being as old as I am.

He brings himself back up to face me, looking down at me. His hand is in my hair, pulling. It almost hurts but it doesn't. I whimper a little and strain towards him. I can feel his member near me. I panic a little, but I know I want this. I've waited so long.

He pushes himself inside, a little at a time. When he's finally in full there is some discomfort, but surprisingly little. After a minute, he begins to move back and fourth, then faster and faster, almost savagely. This is the most unrestrained I've ever seen him, and I drink in the sight of it.

Finished, he leans half against me, and half against the desk, letting us support his weight. I run my fingers through his hair, wet with exertion. He looks up at me and apologizes for it being over too quickly. I tell him he doesn't have to apologize, that I never expected my first time to be half that good. I don't tell him that I'm flattered by his unrestraint. I want to see him that way again, and it doesn't take long. We make love several more times that night. I don't know if it's because he's been without a woman for so long, or he has a specific longing for me that drives his desire. I hope it's the former, but fear it's the latter. I wouldn't be honest with myself if I didn't consider that a possibility. That's how I play his game.

The next morning, Gold is gone. There is a no note that I can find, and of course I'm disheartened, but I choose not to despair. Jumping to conclusions is also not the way to deal with this man. Still, I don't see him for a few days and the more time that goes by, the more nervous I allow myself to become. What if he doesn't want to see me? I think back to my earlier resolve to not hide from things, and decide to seek him out. I go to his shop. He is alone, and when he sees me a desperate look takes over for a moment and he embraces me. It's almost as though he was scared in the same way I was. Silly. In my head, it's always the man who is more likely to run away. He says extenuating circumstances kept him from contacting me, and I accept this. I don't know the complete nature of Mr. Gold's work, but I know it's more than it seems.

Weeks pass. We make conversation. We make love. The situation with the townspeople hasn't changed. One day Mr. Gold asks me, with serious eyes, why I'm so sure the citizens are in the wrong for hating him so. Have I not considered the idea that maybe he's done something to each of them that deserves their contempt? I hang my head a little, and admit I haven't. I've been so adamant in my righteous defense of him that I haven't thought about the point of view of others.

* * *

><p><em>I decide to don't like my answer to his question in my fantasy. I don't like the look my imagination makes him wear when he asks it. I don't know how to fix this, and there is more of the story. I decide to rewind this part. It never happened.<em>

* * *

><p>As our relationship grows I really feel I've become to love him. He's not the person the townspeople believe him to be. Of this I'm sure.<p>

One day, he tells me he needs to talk to me. I agree, of course. I didn't expect it to be anything overly serious.

What he tells me is a cold wake up from the dream I've been in. He tells me that we can't be in a relationship any longer. Our involvement has been affecting his business, and that's more important to him than me, apparently. He says he's sorry, and then leaves me sitting at the table in the park. I walk home, in a daze. I'm in shock, I know. It's rather nice, this numbness. But it goes away soon enough. And then the clawing on the inside begins. I don't understand why.

For days I try to comprehend what has happened. The days stretch into weeks. I pray. I cry.

Eventually, I come to a conclusion.

I have to forgive him for what he's done. I want to hate him. But oddly, all the time I've spent being persecuted by people on his behalf have made me realize that I don't want to be that way. The only way to reclaim myself in this is to once again face my problem.

I go to his shop. He's sitting there. He looks years older. Is he regretting leaving me? My heart is still too much in tatters to consider it at any length. No matter his feelings on the subject, I've come back here for one reason.

I tell him I forgive him through my tears. I tell him I don't know why his business is so important to him, but that I hope, sincerely hope, he's happy with it. And I mean it. I then try to leave and he won't let me. In somewhat halting words, he tells me that he didn't mean what he said before. He tells me this was his test. His game. He wanted to know if deep inside, I was truly as good a person as I'd hoped to be when I was wronged on such a level.

I'm in shock again. If he didn't look and sound more worn and worried than I'd ever seen him before, I'd have slapped him.

He apologizes so many times I lose count. I look into his eyes and see a younger, more frightened version of the person I've known. He thinks he might lose me over this. I'm not certain he won't.

He wants to marry me. I look into his eyes and see the beginnings of a deeper love than what we've had up to this point.

It's all so much to handle, though. I have forgiven him, but there is a difference between being a forgiving person, and being a fool. I don't know what I will choose.

This isn't the land of happy endings.

* * *

><p><em>This fantasy has played out poorly. I don't mind the ending. It has some issues though I don't know how to work around. Maybe I just don't want it to end. I rewind the story once again to the moment in the shop where Mr. Gold kisses me. None of this ever happened.<em>

* * *

><p>I go by Gold's shop a few days after our dinner. I make a teasing comment about his arrogance, and have a passing thought that there is only a single letter difference between his last name and God at that. To my shock, he kisses me with a searing intensity. I want to melt into him. After a few minutes of this, he pulls away completely from me. Still a smoldering look in his eye, he suggests that I probably ought to go. Confused about the suddenness of what just transpired, I agree and begin to leave. With a wolfish grin, he tells me to come back by tomorrow. I blush a deep crimson, and leave his shop, looking back a few times. He is watching.<p>

* * *

><p><em>I don't know where things will go from here. Maybe the kiss and all leading up to it will just be relived endlessly, or maybe I'll make it to the end of this maze. I don't suppose it matters. After all, none of this ever happened.<em>


End file.
